Alfred vs Arthur
by Haiti2013
Summary: Alfred always wants hamburgers all the time no matter what his parents say. Arthur tries to convince his son that there are other foods to eat but the boy just won't listen. What happens when the Brit tries to put his foot down?


_**I just love the FACE family XD**_

_**Hope you like this!**_

* * *

"Daddy, I want hamburgers," Alfred pestered as Arthur tried to put a sneaker on his son's foot. The boy refused to sit still, every moment he got up to grab a new shoe that he insisted that he _needed _but would toss aside as soon as he spotted something else with lights or wheels.

"And I want you to stay put," the Englishman remarked, tying the laces. "Guess we're both out of luck, huh?" The child looked up to his father with a look of confusion.

"So we're not getting the burgers?"

"No, son."

"But there's a McDonald's right next door," he whined."

"If you have hamburgers now, it would ruin your dinner."

"No, it won't! Burgers make everything better!"

"I said no. Your father is making dinner and I will not have Francis yell at me because you won't eat whatever meal he made," Arthur explained. "The bloody git yells at me enough for stuff I didn't do," he muttered under his breath. Alfred paused for a moment.

"What if I promised to eat the burgers and my dinner?"

"You will eat all of your dinner, because you're not getting any burgers. So you'll be plenty hungry when we get home."

"Dad, that's so unfair!"

"So is paying 18 dollars for a pair of shoes you're going to grow out of in a couple of weeks," the Brit mumbled as he checked prices. "Now, enough of your whining, we have to go home." Arthur grabbed a couple of boxes and took them to the cashier. His son crossed his arms and trudged behind him.

"I want those burgers," the boy kept grumbling. Arthur simply ignored it and paid for their stuff. They grabbed the bags and headed out the door towards the car and the Englishman rolled his eyes as he noticed his son walking slowly and look longingly at the golden arches that lit up the sky. Even the Brit had to admit the smell coming from the fast food place was enchanting, smells of freshly cooked patties and french fries wafted into his nose. It was taking all his resolve not to turn around and head for the restaurant.

Finally, they arrived to the car and he began to search for his keys, that were in his front pocket. Or was it the back? Maybe he threw them in a shopping bag? He rifled through all his stuff and there was no sign of the keys. Did he give them to Alfred? Arthur looked at his son, who was still gazing at the McDonald's. The boy looked like he was on the verge of a break down, so the Brit sighed. _We have got to get out of here before the crocodile tears start,_ he decided. Arthur looked around again and then checked inside of the car. _There they are! _he grinned, noticing his key chain hanging from the ignition. He attempted to open his door but it was looked.

"Oh bullocks," he cursed to himself.

"What's wrong, daddy?" Alfred asked, coming out of his hamburger trance.

"I locked the keys in the car," he mumbled. The young boy pointed to the slightly open back window.

"I could fit through there and open the door from the inside," the child grinned.

"I don't know," the man said, uncertainly.

"Oh come on, dad. I can do it," he urged. "I'm a hero." Arthur measured the size of the open window before nodding.

"Alright."

"Yes!" Alfred fist pumped. The Brit lifted his son through the window, Alfred easily fit and landed on a seat inside. He moved to the front of the car and was about to open the door when he paused.

"Now, open the door," Arthur encouraged, but his kid was contemplating something, vision locked on the golden arches again.

"Sure," he grinned. "As soon as I get my burgers," he decided, crossing his arms.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Alfred, I am your father."

"And I am your son," the six year old responded.

"Good, open the door." Alfred frowned.

"I would, but I don't see any burgers."

"You will not tell me what to do, young man."

"Hmm, I guess you're right," Alfred nodded. "I'll just sit here, alone, in the car. I'm sure Papa will be happy to hear this story at dinner."

"Listen here, you don't threaten me."

"Threaten you? Daddy, I would never do that," he said, earnestly. "I'm simply going to explain to Papa how you locked me in a car."

"I did no such thing!"

"This car is locked and you put me in it," the boy noted. Arthur furrowed his bushy eyebrows at his son who simply smiled back. "The burgers are that way," he smiled, pointing to the nearby restaurant. "I'll wait here."

"You're not getting any bloody burgers, you insufferable prat. Now, open the door!"

"Aw daddy, there's no need to get all mean. If your old man bones hurt, I guess I could just use the drive through," Alfred smiled, adjusting himself in the front seat and clasping his hands on the wheel. _The boy wouldn't drive, would he? No, of course not! He's not that crazy. Though. I did hear him rambling about his alien friend earlier, what was his name? Timmy? Trevor? Tony? But that's normal, right? Kids have imaginary friends, it happens! Doesn't mean he's crazy, Oh dear Lord, he's playing with the transmission!_

"Stop it Alfred! You are in so much trouble, young man. Just open the door and I'll _consider _not punishing you," Arthur warned but the boy merely shrugged.

"I'm in trouble anyway. If I'm going down, I want to go down with my burgers. Like a true hero," he nodded. The Brit frowned at the boy's resolve. _I knew I should have brought Matthew...I might have lost him a few times but this would have never happened._ The Englishman glared at his son, who merely watched his father back, clearly amused and awaiting his hamburgers.

"Ok, you made me do this," he admitted, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket. Alfred pressed against the window curiously to see who his dad was calling but the Brit backed up a few steps as he dialed the number.

"_Oui_? Arthur? When are you guys coming home?" a French accent asked.

"Ok, I know you're going to want to blame me but hear me out-"

"_Mon Dieu_, what did you do now?" Francis sighed.

"Do you have to sound so damn presumptuous? Didn't I just say not to blame me?" he replied, irritated.

"Well, when you start a conversation with 'you're going to want to blame me', it kind of suggests something, _n'est-ce pas_?"

"Yea, it suggests that you _shouldn't _judge me, not do it faster," he spat.

"Alright, what happened that _clearly _isn't your fault?"

"Thank you, a little benefit of the doubt, that's all I ask."

"So, what happened?" the Frenchman asked.

"Alfred's kind of-well he's-he's locked in the car," he admitted.

"What? You locked my son in the car?"

"Hey, he's _our _son. I clearly remember changing a diaper or two."

"Why did you lock him in the car?"

"I didn't lock him in there!"

"So he's not locked in the car?"

"Well, he is, but I didn't put lock him in there!"

"So what happened?"

"My keys were-so the door and a hero-then the window-now, he's inside," the Brit fumbled. He didn't know how to phrase it so he would come off as the victim.

"What?"

"What do you mean what? That made perfect sense!"

"You really are crazy," Francis muttered before clearing his throat. "Arthur, you better get my boy out of that car before I use every spell in your stupid magic books to turn you into one of your own disgusting scones!"

"Hey, first of all, _our _boy and secondly, I thought you said you liked my scones."

"Arthur," Francis said with such sarcasm, the Brit could practically hear his eyes roll over the phone. "We're married now, I don't need to lie to you anymore. Now, get Alfred out of the car!"

"You lie to me? Well, I don't know how I feel about this."

"We'll talk about this later Arthur, just unlock the car!"

"Will we talk about it later? Or is this another one of your _lies._"

"Arthur, focus!"

"Okay, I would but he's making demands."

"What?"

"Yea, the little brat won't unlock the doors unless I get him some hamburgers!"

"Then, get him some fucking hamburgers!"

"But you hate fast food."

"Yes, but I love my son."

"Are you saying I don't love him?"

"_Non mon cher,_ of course not. You can just be so stubborn sometimes, a trait that I'm sure you passed on to Alfred."

"Stubborn? Me? Never!"

"Just give the boy a hamburger," the Frenchman sighed.

"I will not give in to the demands of a six year old. I may have kids but I still have a shred of dignity left," he said, stead-fastly.

"You won't have anything left if you leave Alfred trapped in that metal death trap much longer," Francis warned.

"The boy is a terrorist and I don't negotiate with terrorist!"

"Stop being so dramatic and get him out of that tin can."

"Tin can? Now you're saying you don't like my car?"

"An Austin Mini is not a family car, everyone's cramped and it looks ridiculous."

"Wow, I don't think I like this Francis. You were hiding a lot of stuff when we were dating, weren't you? What else do you hate about me, huh? My accent? My clothes? My eyebrows?"

"No, yes, and I've never liked your eyebrows, now, stop being such a baby and get our son out of the car!"

"Well, you might negotiate with the little troll but I am an adult and I will not lower myself to his level...really, my eyebrows? They're, like, my best feature."

"Sure they are, _mon coeur_," Francis waved off. "Let me talk to Alfred."

"Whatever," Arthur shrugged. "It's not like it's going to make a difference." The Brit knocked on the car window to get the attention of the young boy jumping on the seats.

"Your Papa wants to talk to you." Alfred stood still for a minute and for a second, Arthur noticed a slight drain of color from his face. _Whoa, is he actually afraid of Francis? That pushover? These kids need to get their priorities straight! I'm the serious dad! These eyebrows alone demand respect, that's how this family works!_ Arthur passed the phone through the window and his son took it gently, raising the phone gently to his ear.

"Hello?" he gulped. Arthur smirked as his son replied to Francis with sad one worded answers into the phone, for a second he looked hopeful but then he looked repentant again.

"Alright Papa, I'm sorry," Alfred sighed into the phone. "I won't do it again." He nodded. "I love you too." The boy hung up the phone and unlocked the door. Arthur merely glared as his son as he loaded their purchases in the car. Alfred got into the back seat and put his seatbelt on as his dad slid into the driver's seat.

"I'm sorry, dad," his son, apologized.

"Of course you are," the Brit said, coolly, driving to the house. Once they got home, Alfred ran into the house and Arthur came in a couple of minutes later with the shopping bags, setting them in the living room.

"Hi dad!" a young boy smiled, rushing in from the kitchen.

"What was that?" he asked, searching inside the shopping bag.

"Daddy, it's me!" waved the child. He was the same age as Alfred and looked a lot like the American.

"Where?" Arthur joked.

"Here!"

"Where?"

"Who?"

"Matthew!"

"Oh of course," laughed the Brit, scooping up the child. "Hey Matthew, how's it going?" he asked, tickling him.

"I'm good," Matthew laughed. "Daddy, did you really not see me?"

"I always see you," he assured. "Now go wash up for dinner," he said, putting the boy down.

"Okay!" the boy grinned, grabbing his stuffed bear off the couch. "Come on Mr. Kimanjiou(?), you should wash your hands too."

"You mean 'paws'?" Arthur corrected. Matthew glanced at his dad and nodded.

"Right," he agreed before disappearing up the stairs.

Arthur arranged the shopping bags and was heading into the kitchen when a distinct scent hit his nose.

"Francis!" he yelled as he entered the kitchen.

"_Oui, mon chou chou_, welcome home," the Frenchman smiled.

"Don't give me that crap," he scowled. His suspicions were confirmed when his eyes landed on the fast food paper bags that sat on the dinner table. "You bought the hamburgers!" he accused.

"Yes," he admitted. "I was a little late picking up Matthew, so I didn't have time to make dinner." Alfred grinned as he looked down at his happy meal.

"It's okay, Papa, we forgive you."

"No! No, we don't," Arthur spat.

"Oh come on," the blond shrugged. "It's just one day. I think the kids can afford to have this stuff at least once."

"Why do you constantly undermine me?"

"I'm not, I was going to buy these anyway."

"You're rewarding him for misbehaving! What kind of parenting is this?"

"I am not rewarding him. Alfred's going to have his video taken away and spend the rest of the night in his room thinking about what he did and why it was wrong," Francis assured. "But first, he has to eat."

"Fine! But Alfred doesn't get any hamburgers!" Arthur demanded.

"But dad!" the young boy whined and Francis looked as his husband.

"Look, I didn't make anything else and there's no way in Hell, I'm going to let you fix something up for him. The boy did something wrong but he doesn't deserve to die."

"Oh look, snarky Francis is back," the Brit retorted.

"He's having the burgers," the Frenchman settled.

"Fine but he's only having two!" the Englishman growled.

"Two? That's like not having any burgers at all? Do you want me to starve?" Alfred interjected.

"Two burgers and that's it," Arthur repeated.

"Alright, but with fries," Francis shrugged.

"Three fries!"

"Three fries? What does that even mean? No, he's getting the package of fries."

"Ok, but no drink!"

"A small drink."

"Water!"

"Lemonade."

"Fine!" he agreed, turning to his son and smirking. "See that, boy? No one messes with me and gets away with it." Alfred nodded at his father, mouth already full of hamburger.

"Uh huh, you're right," he managed through his face full of food. "You totally taught me a lesson."


End file.
